


and days of auld lang syne

by AliLamba



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Cookies, Exes, F/M, Found Family, Holidays, Home for Christmas, Hurt/Comfort, New York City, Sick Character, Surprises, plot what plot but like in a holiday movie way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliLamba/pseuds/AliLamba
Summary: Veronica will be making it home for Christmas, just as soon as she gets over the world's worst cold. If only people would stop asking her to do things.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 25
Kudos: 107
Collections: Lovecember Holiday Edition





	1. dead trees are traditional

**Author's Note:**

> you know what is brilliant? This freaking fandom. This was the first thing generated on Jmazzy’s LoVeCember prompt generator. Imma be spinning that thing all year.
> 
> Divergent after S2-ish. Er. Whatever just don’t think too hard because I definitely didn’t.

Veronica, as a general rule, does not like it when people take care of her.

There’s probably a really good amount of material there for any decent therapist to help her dig through, like a fertile field of family trauma, but Veronica prefers to think of it more like a streak of independence. Sick people are gross, okay? And she’s a grown woman. She can admit it when she’s gross. She’s living on her own in New York City, working her first job after law school (which incidentally is paying her enough to _afford_ to live on her own in New York City), and everything is going well, probably way too well, because just after she finishes her project in time to catch one of the last flights home for Christmas, she makes a classic mistake:

She gets the freaking flu.

“It’s just a cold,” she tells her dad, blowing her nose into a tissue at work three days before Christmas. “I’ll be on your couch in time to marathon all the Die Hards before you even finish burning dinner.”

You see, Veronica is generally known as a _fighter_ , and things like upper respiratory viruses generally are not what she’d considered an _even_ _match_. She’d had the worst allergies of her life the day she took the Bar. Chicken pox during her seventh birthday, no problem. So she goes home and nearly falls asleep in the shower, then definitely falls asleep under every blanket in her apartment and wakes up with every single one soaked through with sweat, and still, she keeps one eye on the clock, because security at JFK is going to be a nightmare surely and (eventually) she’ll want to leave extra early. This is just a cold, she tells herself, fully aware she is lying, right before she falls asleep on top of her suitcase with her nose full of tissue.

She wakes up to the sound of her phone ringing.

Blinking back the bleariness of fever and fatigue, Veronica sweeps the immediate area for her phone. Her fingers hit the plastic, and she picks it up, answering with pale fingers.

“Hello?”

“Veronica!”

Oh. That’s a loud voice.

“Yeah?” Ugh, she sounds awful.

“Oh my god, _thank you_ for answering.”

“…yeah,” she says, waiting, not particularly feeling the glowing radiation of gratitude. Her throat is made of _sandpaper_ and it’s _disintegrating_.

It’s Jackie. “I was afraid you weren’t going to answer. Haven’t seen you since the Christmas party.”

“Well I’m still here,” Veronica says, gravely, trying to keep her sentences short until she can start sucking on a cough drop. What time is it?

“Well – I just haven’t seen you.”

“Can I help you?”

She likes Jackie. Really, she does. They’ve been coworkers at O’Dell, Landry & O’Dell Law Firm for the past sixteen months, and by virtue of being the same age, the same gender, and both probably a bit too excessively competitive, they’ve been…friendly. Friends. _Work_ friends. Colleagues? _Professional acquaintances._ Hm.

“Yes, oh my god, yes. Are you going to be in town for Christmas?”

Veronica finally figures out what time it is. She checks the bag that she’d not even finished packing, just as her head gives a really painful throb. Well. She’s missed her flight. There are probably more, right? Ugh, no, everything was _booked_. She could try to do standby on whatever’s left but – her head gives another throb. Shit. Maybe she can leave tomorrow.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” she grumbles.

“What?”

“Yeah, looks like it,” Veronica says, pulling the phone away from her face so she can sneeze rather aggressively. It’s bad timing, because, when she puts the phone back to her ear Jackie is mid-sentence.

“—so lucky. My friend, he’s in town, and he just got totally screwed. Can you help him?”

 _What?_ “Um,” Veronica says. Her ears need to pop. Oh god she hates everything. She needs to call her dad, tell him she’s already missed her flight. “Sure? What—“

“Oh _thank you!_ ” the relief in her voice is real. “Thank you so much. Oh my god, this is huge. I _owe you._ ”

Okay, that has its perks. Being owed a favor by Jackie Cook come January 2nd would be useful, probably.

Except that she can hardly think right now, let alone contemplate the ways Jackie could repay her. She feels like she would probably literally kill for some Nyquil right now. 

Jackie could probably get her off on murder-three.

“I’ll just send him your info, k?”

“Uh,” she’s missed something. “Sure. Whatever.” She really does need to call her dad. Just - after a quick nap. Yeah. Just one quick nap, and then everything will be fine.

“You’re the best, Mars,” Jackie is saying, and Veronica is already sinking into a horizontal position on her couch when she hangs up.

There is something ringing, in her apartment.

At first, Veronica thinks it’s part of some ridiculous dream. She’s been having some wild ones, honest. But then the ringing stops. And then it starts again.

And then there’s some pounding, something, and it sounds like someone knocking on her door.

What?

“What?” she whispers, sitting up. What time is it? She checks the window; it’s dark out now. Crap.

It’s her door, she’s sure of that, by now. Her door is making noise. No, that doesn’t make sense. Someone is making her door make noise, someone is ringing her doorbell. Okay. She can do this. She can do this. Veronica stands, nausea rolling through her, lightheadedness making her stumble. Okay, after answering the door, she’s going to lie back down, and probably drink some water. Yeah, water would be good.

Just, once the door stops making noise.

There should be awards, for this, she thinks.

Not for walking and standing upright while sick. No, because, surely there would be some needy cancer kid out in the world who would miraculously regain the use of his legs, or something, and really steal her thunder.

No, there should be other awards.

Awards for…being in your bathrobe and fuzziest, two-day old pajamas, hair untouched in over 36-hours besides the pushing it out of your sweaty face, with the pale, wane complexion of the ailing young professional, used tissues falling out of her pockets and cold medicine stains on her shirt…and then opening the door to your very own apartment,

And finding your high school ex-boyfriend just on the other side.

There should just be awards.

It’s Logan freaking Echolls.

She’d win second-place after the cancer kid, probably. No, definitely after the cancer kid they would give the award to her, for gasping at the first sign of recognition, just as his eyes widen too, for the way she slams the door shut pretty much immediately without moving an inch.

Her eyes are wide now. Puffy and bloodshot and _wide_ , surely, as she looks at the back of her front door, mind racing, stomach churning, nostrils dripping (gross).

What fever dream is she having _now?_

“ _Veronica?_ ”

The voice shouted through the door – she couldn’t be making that up, probably. No, her subconscious would do a lot to torture her but surely not – not _that_ , not having – shit! – not having _him_ show up on her doorstep out of _nowhere_ out of – shit!

What had Jackie been saying? No. No!

“ _Veronica!_ ” he shouts again, and Veronica recognizes that she has to make a decision.

“No,” she says, loud, loud enough to either wake herself up or banish his ghost or – she hasn’t decided yet. But surely saying _no_ loudly could accomplish a few different things.

“Ah shit,” she can hear through the door.

“What the hell are you _doing here_?” she asks, to herself, and she can hear his sigh.

“Can you just open the door? It’s…it’s been a long day.”

Veronica inhales a tight breath. She’s still not full convinced that this is real.

But she opens the door again.

And there, on the other side, just as she was sure she saw earlier, is still Logan freaking Echolls.

“I thought it was you,” he says, and she definitely feels the same.

He’s tall, taller than she remembered. And older, but, they’re both older now. His face is thinner, more narrow, but, with the slight indent of where wrinkles will form later. He still has all his hair, which, he gets a point for that. For having those genes, apparently.

“You going to make me stand in the hall all day?” he asks, soft, self-deprecating, like he’s also getting over the shock of it all. Veronica takes another breath, and because her nose is all stuffed up, it has to be through her open mouth.

“No,” she says, and she takes a step back, letting him in. “No, Logan, come on in.”

He nods, and she realizes the rest: he’s wearing fatigues ( _fatigues?? As in US military fatigues?_ ) and he’s got a duffel bag at his side. What?

She shuts the door behind him. “As you can already dell, I’m not feeling great, and I had no godly idea you were on your way, so. Apologies for the mess.”

“It’s fine.”

She watches as he looks around, scoping out the place. It’s not that she – okay – she hasn’t decorated much, because, well, she’s been busy, and currently the aesthetic is more _mugs, etc._ than anything else.

“I’m making dee,” she says, heading to the stove.

“You’re making _what?_ ”

“ _Dee,_ ” she says, and her nose is stuffed up still. “With _honey._ ”

“Oh, shit, _tea_ ,” he says, and he finds a place on her couch to sit.

She pauses, because, she wants to tell him _don’t get comfortable_ , because surely the second they figure this out is the second he’s _leaving_ , but, anyway. She turns on the kettle.

“You wanna go first?” he asks, and Veronica reaches for a tissue and blows her nose. Loudly. Twice.

“Yeah, okay.”

“God you’re sick.”

“And you noticed. Congrats.” The T’s are easier to pronounce now.

“Well I’m just saying—“

“This has something to do with Jackie, I’m guessing.” Veronica looks up over her kitchen peninsula, kitchen counter, thing, the one that juts off of the wall and doubles as her dining room. Her ‘dining area’ she’d converted to an office within a week of moving in.

“Right,” Logan says, shifting his weight on her couch. She can see a dirty sock shoved between cushions and chooses to ignore it. “Yeah. Jackie. She told me I could come here.”

“To my apartment? Why?”

“My flight got cancelled.” Crap, she still has to call her dad. “Pretty much all of them did. There’s a huge snowstorm in Chicago, and another one due here overnight. La Guardia shut down first, JFK like an hour later.”

“Well, bully for you,” Veronica murmurs. Shit.

“I figured, no big deal, just get a hotel for the night, surely there will be something tomorrow, and—“

“Yeah.”

“And—nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Not a single hotel. I called at least eighty.”

“Eighty.”

“Yeah.” She’s still clearly dubious. “What you want receipts?”

“No I don’t want you here, period.”

He looks at her again, then. His weight shifts again, his gaze lingering. Okay. Clearly he doesn’t really want to be here either, and with good freaking reason. For one, he’s definitely going to catch her cold, and for another, well. You know, the obvious.

“How the hell do you know Jackie Cook?” Veronica blurts, and her kettle starts shrieking.

She’s sitting in the accent chair thing, the one she got from one of her departing neighbors that had originally been covered in cat hair, in part because it’s a comfortable distance away and for another there’s no room on the couch with Logan taking up what feels like her entire apartment.

“We – know each other,” he hedges. She didn’t even offer to make him tea. “When I realized there was no way I was getting a hotel room or getting out of town, well…I got desperate.” He extends his arm over the back of the couch, and Veronica holds the mug up to her nose, letting the steam work its magic on her congestion.

“You know each other.” She’s so glad she’s enunciating better now.

“Yeah.”

Veronica knows that tone too well. _Slept together_ , is what he’s saying. Jeez. Small world.

“She said she was sending me to one of her coworker’s.”

“And you didn’t know it was me?”

Logan leans over his knees then, clasping his hands. He clearly wants her to believe him. “No,” he says, sincere.

“But, my mailbox, or something—“

“She only gave me the address. Someone was coming out just as I got here, and I – I didn’t even check. I just jogged up the stairs. I’ve been in transit for 26 hours; I thought I was getting pretty close to done.”

She has the instinct to ask, then – _twenty six hours?_ – but, she imagines it has something to do with his outfit, which does not appear to have tear-away velcro. Okay.

“I have to call my dad.”

“Your dad?”

“I was supposed to be on a plane tonight too,” she says, sighing. “So. Yeah. Yes, my couch is not yet spoken for.”

“I really appreciate it.”

That bounces through her, for some reason, the idea that he would be thankful, that he was _there_ , in general. She still was fully ready to believe this was a fever dream, but. Ugh. Damn.

Veronica looks around. “I need my phone.”

“Okay.”

She can’t see it. “Do you see it?”

“I don’t know—“

“You’re probably sitting on it.” She stands, crossing to where he is. This is bad, because Logan looks around, and he totally sees the sock, and she refuses to let the embarrassment settle.

“I don’t see it.”

“It was right there.” He’s feeling for it.

“Seriously, Logan, I was sleeping there when you tried to break the door down.”

His face moves, like, he feels enough contrition to wince but not enough to actually follow through. He stops moving his hand.

Logan sighs. He pulls his phone out of a pocket. “Hang on,” he says, and Veronica’s brow creases. What the hell?

He taps, frowning, his shoulders sinking. His thumb finally hovers, his lips tightening, and he hits something on the screen.

There is a buzzing, from somewhere nearby.

Okay. _What?_

Veronica’s heartrate…well, it picks up, a little, because what neither is going to acknowledge for the rest of their life, probably, is that…she might actually have…

“I think it’s under the couch,” he mumbles, and he leans down, reaching with his free hand.

He passes it over, Beyoncé’s _Formation_ blaring.

“Good choice,” he adds, and the screen is face up, and they can both see that Logan’s number is clearly _not_ programmed into her phone, and –

“Thanks,” she says, and she grabs it. “I’m going to – I’m going to go call from the bedroom.”

“Yeah.”

“You can – there’s clean towels somewhere in the bathroom, if you want to, shower, or whatever.”

“I would…that sounds amazing, actually.”

She nods, tight, holding her phone to the mug of tea she’d nearly forgotten as she gazes down at him. Shit, this was actually happening to her. Logan Echolls, about to see what kind of shampoo she uses.

Veronica turns, heading toward her bedroom, one of only a few doors – he won’t get lost.

“And Veronica?” he asks, and she pauses on the threshold to her room, turning her head so she can see him, still sitting on her couch, still looking at her so earnestly, still so _real_ and _insane_ and _alive_ in her space.

“Thanks. Seriously, just – thanks.”

She couldn’t even remember the last time they saw each other, is the thought she’s having while walking around her room, picking things up, moving her suitcase. She can keep it more or less packed, for now. They could both get lucky tomorrow. Ugh. Damn. What’re the freaking odds.

She and Logan had dated pretty…aggressively, back in high school. All of senior year, part of junior year, an all-consuming series of seasons. It had been everything that teenage angst was made for: the first, desperate love, the kind that almost felt real, certainly felt more real than whatever flirtations she’d had _before_ Logan, and the first few she’d had after.

They’d honestly had plans to give long-distance a try, because…well, they weren’t going to the same colleges, not even close to the same colleges, and, it was just, she made one of the first grown-up decisions of her life when deciding to part ways at the end of the most bittersweet summer of her life. What had she said, back then? _A tough, but survivable amount of pain now, or…_ Well, it didn’t matter. She’d broken both of their hearts, and then she’d gotten on a plane, and she found things to do over the summers so that she was never home for more than a few days, a week max, and all those days were filled with her dad, and, and Wallace and Mac, and –

Anyway.

Crap.

Okay.

She presses the dial button on her phone, listens to it ring.

“There she is,” her dad says, and her stomach sinks.

Her voice is weak, pathetic. And still very sick-sounding. “Guess where I’m not.”

“Whoa now. What’s with the voice? This a new disguise?”

“Ha,” she laughs. “No, uh. I think I caught the plague.”

“Well that’s not funny,” he says, and his paternal love is equal parts predictable and embarrassing.

“I fell asleep and missed my flight,” she explains, quick.

“Ah.”

“The rest appear to be cancelled, until – well. I’m not sure really. I’m going to be on the first one that leaves the ground heading west, I promise.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I’m serious. I’ll be there.”

“It’s okay,” he says again.

Veronica worries her lower lip. She sniffs, unperturbed, by now, at the sound of her own snot. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal, sweetie.”

Gosh she kind of hates it when he calls her _sweetie_ , but, she kind of loves it too. See? This is what people do to sick people. She’s not _summa cum laude_ graduate of Stanford University, anymore. Now she’s _sweetie._ “Your present will keep until after Christmas.”

She rubs a tissue under her nose. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“What are dads for? The pony doesn’t even take up your whole bedroom. Shits more than I’d like, but, I can remember to feed it an extra few days.”

She laughs.

“I just feel bad though, sweetheart. Alone on Christmas Eve.”

Her stomach sinks further then twists all up like a wrung-out sponge.

“Funny you should mention that…”

She’s resigned to this, probably. That’s why she’s dazedly wandering around her apartment with a trashcan, picking up tissues, trying to clean up a little. This is happening, this is her life. Logan Echolls is naked in her bathroom and will be twenty feet away from her while she sleeps. Imagine that.

By some bad luck of the rotation of the Earth, it’s barely six p.m. She’d sort of been hoping that with the dark they could just say a quick good night and then she could hold her bladder until morning, or something, but no, it’s still not too late for dinner. Christmas Eve dinner.

Lovely.

The steam tumbles out of the bathroom before Logan does, and she turns just to realize he’s just cracked it.

Right. Her bathroom has no windows to the outside, it’s all enclosed, and, there’s nowhere else to vent the steam. See this is a problem she would be aware of except it’s only ever her, and she just leaves the door open.

And she’s just about to turn away, keep doing what she’s doing, when her eyes, running over the landscape of her apartment, land ever so fleetingly on the mirror above her sink, and, she gets…a total eyeful, of her ex-high-school-boyfriend, wet hair, towel wrapped around his waist, turning from the door, and, it stops her dead cold.

Logan had always been into his physical fitness, she remembered that.

But this was –

Shit.

Okay.

Well.

Her gaze darts up, and her eyes meet Logan’s in the mirror reflection, and heat _surges_ into her face, and she whips around so quickly she nearly tumbles over the coffee table, and what the hell is she actually doing. _It was an accident_ , she wants to shout, but that would probably make it worse.

Shit. Well. Okay. This is fine, it’s no big deal, Logan is ripped now, and apparently he – yeah, okay, okay – he does something that would put him in some sort of military outfit. Right. Okay, well, those would naturally go together.

She just – she just doesn’t like that this unintentionally pervy glimpse has…has put him on her radar, or something. Well not _really._ Not like she’s _interested._ But she was just really prepared to think of him only as some teenage jerk she’d ditched, and now, well. Right. Now she’s remembering that they’d had sex. Many times. It’s just, she’s so zonked with this illness she wasn’t going to have any bandwidth to actually consider this visit more than the literal presence of another human, but, well.

Shit.

She’s washing the seven mugs she’d found on various surfaces when he comes out a few minutes later, still toweling off his hair.

He expels a breath, and she glances from the corner of her eye, as Logan walks over, and takes one of the barstools at the counter.

“Thanks again,” he says, and Veronica puts the last mug onto the draining rack.

“No problem,” she answers, turning, drying her hands. “You said you’d been traveling for awhile?”

“Yeah, I was – “ why is he hesitating? “ – I was, well, I was deployed.”

“I’m guessing not for fun,” she says, and he laughs, soft, like he’s not ready to do it for real yet.

“No, uh. I uh. I joined the Navy a few years ago.”

“The Navy.”

“Yeah.”

“As in like, boats. Boats that go to fight other boats.”

“Yeah we like to call them _warships_ , but, now I’m totally questioning why.”

“Surely _boats_ , send in all the _boats_ , would suffice.”

“Yeah like, just get rid of _Navy_ , just call it _All the Boats_.”

“Makes sense to me.”

His gaze is warming, and, oh her actual God, this is so freakishly familiar.

“Uh,” he says, averting his gaze for a moment. “Actually, it’s more like the airplanes on the boats. I fly those.”

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

“Well, yes, that makes sense, because, just I imagine just being a regular Navy seaman is too easy.”

“Kid stuff.”

Now, _her_ gaze is warming. She can feel it.

“Right. Well.”

They’re just sort of staring at each other, for a moment. God how long has it been? She doesn’t want to ask, because, then she’d have to admit that she wondered in the first place.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asks, and Veronica has to sniff. Because there is _no reason not to_ (shut up, psyche), she follows through, and she somehow notices that Logan doesn’t even cringe.

“No,” she admits. “But, get whatever you want. There’re menus in the drawer.”

She moves towards the couch, a few steps away, skipping a few extra ones, because sniffing that hard has dropped all the _nasal drip_ into her throat, and now she’s about to have a very violent coughing fit. Shit, when was the last time she took medicine? Didn’t she have a tea. Didn’t she just have a tea. She was sure she made a tea.

“Maybe soup,” she can hear him saying, and she flops onto the couch with a groan.

“You knew when you walked in what you were getting, right. I would get up off your bed but there’s sickness everywhere, sorry.”

“Yeah, I figured. I’ll take a cold over another _second_ in the airport,” he admits, with a slight edge.

She snorts, sympathetic.

“Jeez,” he says, when he’s clearly found the menu drawer. What did he expect? That somehow between law school, and clerking, and work, and whatever, that she’d suddenly have time to actually care for herself? Like an adult? She can hear him pause, considering them. “Got any favorites?”

“They usually make it to the top,” she mumbles, closing her eyes. Ugh her nose is on fire.

“Hm,” he says, deciding. “Okay, I got this.”

He orders Indian food, which sounds…surprisingly palatable, actually. She can hear him call it in.

“Yeah. Hey, also, my friend, she’s sick right now.”

What is he doing?

“…Yeah, just a bad cold.” He laughs at something. “Thanks. Got anything for that?” He listens for an extra minute. “That sounds amazing. Yeah. Please. Thank you.”

She’s frowning into the cushion as her eyes open. It’s just – her insides are twisting, because, in so many ways this is the same boy who’d slashed her tires and then made a _flat_ joke once, er, _before_ they started dating, but, it’s also…he’s clearly an incredibly competent human now, and, it sounds like he’s very successfully charming the grouchy old owner of her favorite neighborhood Indian place.

“Great, thanks again,” he says, and Logan hangs up his phone. “Twenty minutes,” he announces, and Veronica squints, as Logan puts away the menus, then looks around her kitchen, looks around her apartment, and then heads back over to her. He takes the extra chair she’d been using earlier.

“You sure you’re okay?”

She rubs her nose. Then she leans in to a sitting position. “Yes. Well, this is probably where I should mention that I still definitely don’t like to be coddled.”

He smirks, not looking away. “Noted.”

She holds his stare for a moment.

“But,” he continues, “I still definitely don’t like owing people favors, so, forgive me in advance for paying for dinner.”

She narrows her gaze. “Noted.”

He leans back in the chair. “I’m surprised you’re.” He pauses. “I just – most people would probably have left for home a few days ago.”

“Had a case,” she sighs, eyeing the throw pillow she’d definitely drooled on earlier. “It’s not done, but, it’s done enough.”

He’s nodding. “So that’s you now? You’re a lawyer?”

“Are you surprised?”

He rubs his chin. “No,” he admits. “You work with Jackie?”

“Yeah. That’s – I’m still just really surprised that you – “

“Small world,” he agrees, at a murmur. He pauses, his gaze a bit hard, as if he’s debating what to say, for another moment. This is also not a Logan she’s very familiar with. The Logan she knew never had a problem just blurting whatever he felt like, and he usually felt like quite a lot. “We uh, dated. Back in college.”

“At Hearst?”

He wets his lips. “Yeah. She was my first, after—“ he really doesn’t need to finish. “Well.”

Oh. Right. That’s…well. It doesn’t matter.

“Well, you could do a lot worse.”

“It didn’t last very long.”

“It’s fine.”

“I should probably go get dinner.”

She stares at him for a moment. “Yeah.”

They look at each other for another beat, and Veronica has a flash of remembering what he looked like shirtless. Ah.

Logan gets up, going for his duffel, fishing out a beanie and a jacket, the latter he shrugs on over his t-shirt. It’s nice and toasty warm in her apartment, the thermostat by the door too far away to fuss with, but she’s heard no complaints.

“Need anything?” he asks, hand on her door.

“No,” she says, too quick, lying back down. “You can take the keys. They’re by the—“

“Got ‘em. Thanks. I’ll be back soon.”

She hears as the door closes behind him, her head foggy and gross.

The silence is suddenly very loud.

She sits back up, looking over at Logan’s bag. So weird. This is all so weird. She grabs her phone off the coffee table and opens the texts.

 **Me:** So…Logan Echolls.

 **Jackie Cook** : Yeah! Thanks again. I do totally owe you.

 **Me:** Um. Yeah, actually. I uh. I know him.

It takes a minute for the text to come in after some ellipses.

 **Jackie Cook:** I’m sorry, what?

Veronica now hesitates, debating what to say, how to say it.

 **Me:** We dated in high school.

Her phone immediately starts ringing.

Veronica sighs, and answers.

“You _what?_ ” Jackie is shouting into the phone. It’s way too loud, and Veronica cringes.

“I told you. I know him.”

“But – but – “ Jackie is clearly still aghast. “Hang on. Wait a minute. Are you trying to tell me – are you _that Veronica?_ ”

What the hell does that mean? “Uh.” Veronica doesn’t know the correct answer. “Maybe? Probably? I plead the fifth.”

“Oh, cute,” Jackie says, not impressed. “Holy _shit_.”

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean, holy _shit!_ ”

“I know.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Veronica imagines that Jackie Cook is currently working to recall every single thing she knows about her old ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend. Wait. This is suddenly an idea she has definitely not thought through.

“Well I know he’s definitely single now,” Jackie says, and Veronica actually recoils _._

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” she asks, vaguely disgusted.

Jackie hums to herself. “Nothing, probably,” she says. “Look, I gotta go, I’m actually at a party right now, but, I’ll call you, yeah? We should probably talk more about this.”

“Yeah,” Veronica says, suddenly unsure. “Um. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh right,” Jackie agrees, sounding distracted. “Yeah,” she says again, more sure. “Right, yeah. Merry Christmas, Veronica.”

Veronica hangs up the phone, and looks around her empty apartment.

Merry Christmas.

The whole _being sick thing_ has been waiting for her to let her guard down, so she’s dozing when Logan comes back into her apartment a bit later. There’s a moment of delirious alarm when her door just _opens_ like that, and she sits straight up with drool coming _right_ out of her mouth, and pushes hair out of her face when she recognizes Logan coming through her door.

“Jeezus, how hungry _are you?_ ” she just says, as if, she’s an actual person with no filter.

Logan is using all that (er, impressive) musculature to carry at least four bags into her apartment, and they look freaking full.

“I stopped for some things,” he says, bright, and Veronica squints against the light in the room. Oh man, she’d really, _really_ love to go back to sleep.

“Like at the outlet mall?”

“Ha, no,” he says, putting down bags. “You hungry? The guy at the restaurant said this was great for head colds.”

“Don’t – I told you. I _really_ don’t need you to take care of me.”

He pauses with his hands on the bags. “Uh. Right.”

She stares at him.

“Logan,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“What’s in the bags.”

He squints with one eye. “Um. Porn? Definitely porn. Porn definitely for me. Porn for me like…Nyquil. Nyquil but like…porn.”

Okay. Okay. She’s definitely furious. But she also very well could kiss him on his freaking sculpted bicep right now.

“Logan, those are the most beautiful words I have ever heard,” she says, and she sinks back down onto the couch.

Logan brings her a something that she’s never had before. He bumbles through the pronunciation ( _varan-bhat_ , the container says clearly) but it’s warm, and not too thick, and a bright, healthy-looking yellow, and she sips it slowly on the couch. Logan takes the accent chair and groans into his food when he takes the first bite.

A part of her wants to smile, almost. She forgot he used to do that.

“This is great,” he says, and Veronica hums acknowledgement.

“Arjun has literally never given me free naan before. You must have done something right.”

“Maybe you should try smiling more,” he says, snarky.

“Wait, okay,” he adds, pausing with his empty fork in the air. “Forget I said that. I meant, like, me, as in like – my beautiful smi—okay just forget it.”

The corner of her mouth twitches up. She takes another spoonful.

“So…” he says, because Veronica is not making conversation. “So, your dad, yeah? That’s who you were going back for?”

Veronica nods. She pauses, looking at the food in her bowl. She looks up at Logan, thinking. “Your – your sister, right? Is she still in…”

“I have no idea where my sister is,” he says, taking another bite. He apparently did _not_ over-order, and she realizes he’s been eating plane food for the last day. Hm. Wait, where’s Tina? “Nah,” he adds, wistful. “I’m afraid dear Dick will just have to make do without me this year. Hmm.”

“Wait, Dick? As in—“ she sits up straighter. “Dick Casa _blancas_ Dick?”

“The very same.”

“What – okay. Really?”

He laughs, getting it. “Yeah. He’s doing okay. We have a place together back home. Not in like—“ he’s quick to add, which makes her feel warmer, somehow, “—okay, not that Dick couldn’t get someone hot like me, but, you know. He’s uh.” Now he kind of sobers, a little. “Well, he’s what I got.”

“He’s your Dick.”

“He’s my Dick.”

“That’s—“ she doesn’t have all the words. “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah well,” he says, preparing to stand to refill his bowl. “We can’t all have awesome dads like you.”

“He got my a pony this year,” she reveals, joking, not having any idea why she’s joking, and Logan laughs again.

“He did not.”

“Apparently it’s pooping all over my old room. So I have that to look forward to when I get back.”

His expression straightens. “Wait. I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

She tilts her head at him. “Seriously Logan? You’ve lost your touch.”

The smile cracks his lips. “Apparently.”

They put on a movie, because it’s Christmas Eve, and Logan is craning his neck so often from the accent chair that she makes room for him, even though it means pulling up her legs because she’s not going to suddenly want to sit up. The food is warm in her belly, and Logan throws the spare blanket at her when he sees her tucking her hands between her thighs, curling in on herself like a ball. And even though it’s the Ghost of Christmas Past scene, and Muppet Giant Friendly Ghost Man is about to come on, he gets up, goes to his bag, and comes back with the Nyquil he’d mentioned.

She takes it, with a grimace, because her head feels like a balloon on a stick.

When Veronica wakes up later, the lights in her apartment are all off. The TV is off too. She doesn’t know what time it is, but, when she glances out the window, all she can see is the drifting of snow in the dark. Veronica sighs. She can’t even remember falling asleep, but, it was probably before eight o’clock. God, she is sick. She hates being sick.

Veronica stands in her empty apartment, tugging the blanket around herself.

There are four different cricks in her body from the awkward way she’d slept on the couch, probably trying to keep away from Logan, maintaining a respectable distance while unconscious. Ugh. Her neck, dang. Her neck hurts. And wasn’t Logan supposed to be sleeping on the couch? What happened? Where is he?

She couldn’t see him anywhere. Did he—

Did he leave?

A coldness grips her stomach that she did not expect, trying not to think. She, well, okay, this _whole thing is ridiculous_ , but, it’s, well, she just hadn’t been—

Alone.

 _Stop it_ , Veronica.

She pulls the blanket closer and pads to her bedroom, recognizing the distinctive lump for what it is. Veronica stands some feet away, for a moment, regarding Logan’s sleeping form, the way his easy breaths rise and fall. He’d made the bed, which is, well that was nice, really. And he isn’t even sleeping under the covers; he’d found another throw and he’s sleeping on top of her duvet with it. He can’t be totally warm, but, it’s…god damn it, it’s _polite_ , is what it is. It’s conscientious.

Logan Echolls…conscientious?

They’d been teenagers when they dated. Not really the pinnacle of anyone’s life, in any regard. They’d been selfish and awkward and inconsiderate in the way that only youth who don’t want to be labeled as such are, who can understand adulthood, to an extent, and in too many ways crave and reject its strappings.

She’d been an obnoxious punk, is what she’s trying to process. Not all of those traits had really gone away, actually. And Logan…Logan had been…god, he’d been king of the assholes, honestly. Them getting together was like lava meeting the ocean. A bad idea, an explosive result, and just, sort of…inevitable, sometimes.

And now…

They’ve only spent a few hours together, but Logan is clearly…well. Adulthood – proper, honest adulthood? – it kind of…suits him.

Veronica looks back at her couch, in the dark empty living room. What to do now? She should go back and sleep there; pretend she never woke up to begin with. But she looks back at her own bed, at the part Logan made and isn’t touching, and it’s just..it’s cozier in here, somehow.

Veronica takes a deep breath, turns on the bedside humidifier, and crawls between her own covers on Logan’s other side.

She falls asleep again watching silent snow drift past the window.


	2. but i've never been one for the classics

Veronica wakes up the next morning, and at first she doesn’t remember the strange events of the day before. It’s bright and sunny outside her apartment window, the world fresh and white. She still has a terrible cold; she’s pretty desperate for a tissue actually, but, she didn’t wake up with a raging headache, so, that’s probably an improvement.

And then she realizes –

It’s Christmas.

Veronica sits up in bed, twisting to see the other side of it.

Logan isn’t there.

The throw blankets are folded up in a nice little stack, the cover of her duvet wrinkled but still mostly in place. She’d forgotten about the, well, the whole sleeping arrangements thing. Huh.

Veronica wipes around her mouth before getting up to find warmer socks. She cleans out her nose with at least four tissues, and then walks into the living room, unsure if Logan is still even there.

Logan Echolls is, in fact, still in her apartment.

Actually, Logan Echolls has apparently joined the Navy, no longer subsists mostly on fart jokes, and can now…make breakfast?

Is that… “Bacon?” she whispers, from most of a room away.

When did he buy it though? She knows exactly what was in her fridge as of yesterday afternoon and it was mostly condiments. She was going out of town, okay? There definitely was no hidden stash of _bacon._ And then there are more relevant questions, too, questions like: he is _cooking for them?_ No, seriously, _why is he cooking for them?_ And – they shared a bed overnight? After not seeing each other since high school? Come on. 

He can’t hear her with all the noise he’s making, so she gets to do the better thing of sneaking up on him, taking one of the kitchen stools. His broad back is still turned.

“So…we should talk.”

He jumps, which (come on, military training? He must’ve skipped a day) is fine, and then he almost lights a fire with one of the pans he’s holding, but, he gets it under control enough to stop what he’s doing, turn off at least one of the burners, and turn to face her.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, fighting a smile.

She squints at him, considering. “Is that something we do? Are we Merry Christmas people?”

He’s wiping off his hands. “Well – okay I know Kwanzaa starts tomorrow – “

“No,” she says, and there’s a tickle at her cheek that she doesn’t understand or appreciate. “I was just under the impression that we’d both had sufficient family trauma to decide that _merry_ was clearly too much to hope for.”

He laughs. “Maybe I’ve found Jesus since high school.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe I’ve found – the spirit of Christmas since high school.”

A grin breaks apart her face. She rolls her eyes a little. “I’m serious Logan. We should talk.”

He doesn’t get her change in tone right away, so he turns, opening the right cabinet maybe by chance, pulling out plates.

“You want pancakes? It’s been a while since I made scrambled eggs that didn’t start as a powder, which, I am an expert at I’ll have you know, so those are definitely burnt, but, I think I did okay with the rest.”

“Logan.”

“Got bacon too,” he continues, turning around, putting the plate in front of her, passing her a fork. “You want coffee? Or tea. Probably tea.”

Okay. _What_ is going on. Logan Echolls showed up at her apartment twelve hours ago and now he’s gone…full domestic in her kitchenette. He’s turning on her kitchen kettle and picking out a _mug._ Something is _wrong_.

“Logan,” she tries again, putting her hand down on the counter beside her (very full) plate. “ _Logan_ ,” she stresses, when he doesn’t turn first thing.

He finally turns, frowning now.

“Are you…hm. Are you not hungry?”

She’s not, but. “Look, I’m just saying we need to talk about this.”

 _Now_ he gets it. The look in his eyes shifts, somehow, shifts and…takes on a wary look. “Did you want me…sorry did you want me to go? Flights are still cancelled in New York but I could try New Jersey, or - ”

“No, it’s – okay, look, it’s not that.”

He’s looking at her still, and that’s – how does he not _get it?_

“It’s just – it’s _weird_ right? Logan, it’s just – it’s you! It’s me! It’s…look, we haven’t seen each other in, what, eight years? Nine? _Ten?_ ”

“I think it’s close to nine.”

_Okay._

“Exactly. We haven’t seen each other in nine years and all of a sudden you’re making me _breakfast?_ ”

He frowns then, frowns and looks around the mess he’s made of the kitchen so far. Well, _mess_ is an overstatement, but, you know, he bought a six-pack of eggs, he bought bacon, is that _pure maple syrup_ oh my god, and it’s just – she doesn’t want this. She didn’t ask for it.

And honestly it’s just _weird._

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “I guess, it didn’t seem that weird, until…until you said it.”

Her shoulders drop, then, and, well, the guilt worms in. They’d shared a _bed_ last night, honestly. The most platonic _last hotel room, only one bed_ trope in the world, probably, but – come on. He could have molested her at any moment, he could have stolen all her covers, he could have – a lot, really. He could have done a lot, and she’s barely thought about it at all until this moment.

And that’s _weird._

“Look, maybe we should just – I dunno. There’s work I could catch up on, I can do it in my room, I could just sort of hole up and leave you alone with privacy until this whole mess is sorted out.”

The shutters are closing, then. She can see them in his eyes, the way he’s pulling back, into himself. And it’s just – how is she the only one who woke up thinking about this?

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter. And finally, he shrugs. “I dunno,” Logan says, looking away. Looking out the window, out at the day. “It’s just – it’s Christmas.”

And she was thinking he might say something just honest to god ridiculous like that, she really was, and a part of her sighs anyway, because, this is what the holidays do to people, sometimes. Either it’s a day of binge drinking and mistakes, or – or you make someone pancakes. She’s not ready to rule out the drinking, because, the man who’s made her breakfast has also seen her naked and apparently wants to live out some sort of ridiculous holiday fantasy, and – oh jeez.

She rubs her face, eyes closed.

“I didn’t get you a present,” Veronica says, grouchy, and she can _hear_ the way he smiles.

“Day’s not over, yet.”

She showers while Logan cleans up after food, which feels good, getting clean, with scalding hot water, the steam opening up her sinuses. She supposes that if an ex-boyfriend _had_ to show up on her door on Christmas Eve like that, she could do worse than Logan Echolls. Which isn’t something she would have said, except, well, he’s clearly done enough to deserve the accolade, so.

She takes some more cold medicine, wraps herself up in a fuzzy bathrobe, towels off her short blonde hair, and has just stepped into the living room…when she hears someone else’s voice.

“—suuuch a bummer dude. The present I got you? It’s all totally gross now.”

“Dick, is it _alive?_ Please tell me it’s not alive.”

Her shoulders settle.

“Nah man. Edibles. Guy at the store said they were awesome, but, I think I was supposed to refrigerate them? Hard to tell. But it’s like eaten the wrapping paper dude. Probably not the kind of trip you were lookin for. Probably still gonna try it though oh hey, Veronica.”

Logan turns, sharp, when he hears Dick’s greeting, and there’s a strained moment of everyone just looking at each other. Veronica tries for a smile, waving at the camera. “Hey, Dick,” she says, via FaceTime. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, really sucks you guys can’t get flights out. I’ve been watching all these cooking shows? I’m…” he smiles a bit. “I’m pretty good at food now.”

“As in like, cooking it?” she hazards.

“No, _Ronnie_ , as in like eating it?” He rolls his eyes. “Have you ever had _champagne vinegar?_ It’s like, it goes great with _toast?_ Psh. Come on.”

She’s not exactly sure about that, but, she also did not know there was such a thing as vinegar in alcohol form that wasn’t alcohol she’d left open for too long in the back of her cupboard, so. Points for Dick.

“Okay. I’m going to get dressed now.”

“Merry Christmas Ronnie!” he shouts, and Veronica turns towards her bedroom.

She finishes drying her hair in privacy, contemplating what to wear. Does Logan – he doesn’t expect her to want to go out of the apartment, right? She frowns, and puts on clean sweats.

When she comes out, there’s a fresh cup of tea waiting for her on the coffee table. Logan is apparently sipping one of his own, scrolling his phone.

“How’s Dick,” she asks, conversational.

“Good. Missing, er, me, I guess. I haven’t been home for the holidays in a few years.”

 _Right._ “Active duty, and all, I’m guessing.”

He nods.

Veronica suddenly doesn’t know what to do. Logan is still looking at his phone, and, it’s still Christmas, and. “So…” She says, taking a seat a healthy distance away. “So, did you like, expect anything to happen today? I just – I just want to figure out what you think today is going to entail.”

He shrugs. “Pretty sure there’s a Die Hard marathon on four different channels right now. I have no aspirations.”

“But, I dunno. Christmas in New York, isn’t that a thing?”

“I’ve been to New York before.”

“What?“

“Yeah, a few times,” he shrugs. “I didn’t know you lived here, but,” he glances at her, “it’s a big city, and, uh. I don’t know if you would’ve even appreciated the call.”

Her shoulders relax again, and she puts her hands on her thighs. “Yeah,” she agrees. Finally she leans back into the couch. The image of Logan calling her phone last night flashes through her mind, but, she completely shuts it away. “What do…what do you and Dick usually do?”

Logan shrugs again. “Surf, cook, eat. Sometimes grand larceny. The usual.”

She’s pretty sure the last part is a joke.

“What about you and your dad?” he asks, putting down his phone. “What’s your tradition?”

“Um,” she feels suddenly hesitant. “Not much.”

“Not much?”

“Well we only do grand larceny on opposite years.”

“Naturally.”

“Yes...well, actually, I haven’t made it home the past few years either.”

“Ah.”

“ _And_ , I don’t even have the fancy fatigues to make a proper excuse.”

“Got those at the porn shop.”

“Gosh they are just so well-stocked right now.”

“You wouldn’t believe.”

They gaze at each other for a moment, warm, _fond._ The surreality of it jumps into her again, and she looks away.

“Not much, to answer your question. Make cookies. Play cards. Movies. Cook. Eat.”

“Well,” he considers. “We can’t surf, and I have no idea if you have cards or not.” She does, but. “We could make cookies.”

“We don’t have to make cookies.”

He shrugs. “So what? I’ve been stuck on a boat eating recently uncanned goods for the last six months. Seriously, anything sounds fine. Sugar? Or gingersnap.”

She caves. Probably too easily. But come on. Cookies? On Christmas?

“Come on Logan, you know me,” she says. “I’m a marshmallow, remember? Sugar please.”

A sort of light breaks into his gaze now, making it almost glow. “Oh yeah,” he says, drawing out the vowel sounds, and something happens inside her belly. It’s just that it’s full of good food, again, is all it is. That’s all.

He glances at her kitchenette. “Okay, but, I’ve seen the insides of your cabinets, and, I know for a fact that you have zero ingredients for cookie making.”

“I am like ninety percent sure there is flour in there.”

“There is protein powder? And I don’t know if that will work as well as you think it will.”

“Logan, we are human beings. We live for the thrill of discovery.”

He makes an extra trip to the corner store, which is really ultimately a great idea, because he comes back with alcohol.

They’re on Die Hard 3: Die Hard With a Vengeance (which for the record is, not a great title) by the time they’ve made and eaten half the cookies. Veronica at least now has a proper stomach ache. But she really barely cares. They’re having a really good time, now that the air’s cleared.

“You’re sure this is medicinal?” she’s asking him, grinning, all stretched out on the couch in her pajamas and robe, feeling like she should have taken more Dayquil two hours ago but she’s having a nice enough time where she’s at.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s a _hot toddy_. There’s like five types of ancient healing herbs in there.”

“Yeah like _whiskey_.”

“Which has been aged two years um yeah it’s historic.”

Veronica laughs.

She glances at the screen; she honestly has no idea what’s happening in the movie. Logan pulled the accent chair closer earlier, then just took the other end of the couch. He’s been sitting so close to her feet for the past movie and a half, it seems like.

“You want lunch?”

“God no.”

He puffs laughter, picking up his own drink. “Good. Me neither.”

She looks at him, for a moment, where he’s sitting up on her couch. Maybe she’s drunk but…Logan is…Logan is _hot_ . She’d forgotten her own good taste, honestly, or rather, Logan was hot in high school, but he was, well, he was high school hot. Now though, now he’s…geez, he’s _grown man hot_.

Veronica unconsciously licks her lips.

“Hey,” she asks, kinda quiet. “What do you remember about high school?”

He looks over.

“High school?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. What do you mean?”

“Just—“ why did she bring this up? She pushes hair off her forehead. “Just, I dunno. Us, I guess. Do you remember? I mean, it was nine years ago, and—“

“Yeah.”

The quickness of his word, it...catches her off guard.

No, the way he’s looking at her catches her off guard. His gaze is turning dark and lingering, and it just infiltrates, somehow, the tender haze of a few good drinks.

And the strangest thing is that…is that she doesn’t turn away from it, exactly.

“I uh,” she says, and she wants to look at the TV but doesn’t. “I remember too.”

“I remember us breaking up,” he adds, and Veronica’s mouth opens on a tiny puff of air.

“Yeah,” she agrees. It’s not hard to do it and maintain eye contact.

“Do you…” Logan is the first to look away, and he looks at the wall, not really seeming to see anything. “Well.” He looks at his drink. “It doesn’t matter. Hey, it’s still light out, you want to go throw snowballs?”

She takes the Dayquil again, because, yeah she wants it, and they do an extra shot of whiskey (for warmth and healing) before leaving the apartment, all bundled up in whatever Logan had in his bag and Veronica had in her closet. Logan looks great in her bright pink earmuffs.

“That’s cheating!” she’s yelling, running down a city block. Logan, being stupid military, is unfairly good at this, and the roads are empty, making for easy scooping. It’s getting late in the day; they have leftovers to look forward to at home. Merry whatever indeed.

“You agreed to this!” Logan is yelling back, and a snowball whizzes right past her ear. Veronica laughs, delighted, exhilarated, out of the walls of her apartment for the first time in days. She’d forgotten how _great_ it was.

Veronica ducks behind a car, scooping up an entire armful of snow, just as Logan comes barreling up behind her. She dumps the whole load into him, shoving as much as she can down and up his shirt. Logan laughs, loud, free, the cold getting all into his skin.

“Okay!” he yells. “Yield. I yield. Ba Ram Ewe, ba ram ewe, whatever.”

She’s still got laughter bubbling up her throat. “What? What is that? Is that Navy talk.”

He laughs again. They can’t stop. “Yeah, definitely. That’s how the Germans lost the last war.”

“Ba ram boo.”

Logan laughs again.

Veronica looks up at him, smiling, eyes glowing in the waning sunlight. Logan’s looking back down at her, from his higher vantage. Goodness, it’s just – she’s _enjoying this_.

“This is fun,” she says, and Logan’s gaze darts to her lips. He looks away quickly, nodding, trying to tuck away his smile as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You ready to go inside? We could see if a bar will serve us something with a candy cane.”

She sniffs, loud, unapologetic. “It can be my Christmas present.”

Logan snorts, and they fall into step together. For a moment, they don’t say anything. It hasn’t snowed all day, and the street cleaners have been lazy, which is fine. They’d made a snowman, which they named Hugh, and he had a snowdog that turned into a snowsnake because snakes were easier; it’s been a day of surprisingly childish fun, and she’s honest to god really enjoying herself.

Logan opens the door of the bar for her, and Veronica walks in, unwinding her scarf. The bar is half-empty; it’s not particularly fancy, chosen obviously for its proximity and not, well, anything else.

The bartender comes over as they take off their coats.

“Got anything with a candy cane?” Logan asks, and the bartender sizes him up, then snorts.

“Yeah. You want two?”

“You know it.”

The bartender steps away, and Logan and Veronica take neighboring stools. There’s some sort of nut mix sitting out, and it surprises her when Logan takes some without blinking.

“You want some?”

Veronica shakes her head, her smile teasing. “No thanks. I’ve already got the plague.”

“Your loss,” he says, with a wink, dropping a few more cashews into his mouth.

It occurs to her, again, just how easy this has been. Just how easy it’s been to fall into a rhythm with him.

Logan glances at her. “So, any highlights from the last nine years I should know about?”

“Well apart from the pony, right, because he’s still waiting for me at home.”

“Obviously besides the pony.”

The drinks show up, and Veronica smiles, because they look absolutely absurd. She takes a sip, and the drink is cold and hyper-sweet. After all the running around it tastes great, though.

“No,” she says, thinking about it. Actually. Wait. She thinks about it. “Yeah, actually, no. I went to law school, I graduated law school, I’ve been at my firm for a few years, and…wow. Okay. That’s it.”

“That’s _it?_ ”

“I went to Canada once? But it was a work trip.”

He’s turning to look at her, and geez if he doesn’t look mildly _concerned_. “Come on. There must be more.”

Well.

“Well—“ she says. “I mean. I haven’t been celibate, I guess. There was, well for most of those years I was seeing this one guy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, but, it just…it just didn’t work out.”

Logan is eating the nut mix more slowly now. “Was it serious?”

She doesn’t have to think about it to answer, but, she also doesn’t really want to think about it anyway, so. “Yeah. We lived together for five years.”

“Five _years?_ ”

She takes another sip of the drink, fighting the urge to take bigger ones.

“That is…actual monogamy,” Logan concedes.

“It was,” she agrees. Piz hadn’t even cheated on her, in the end. They’d just sort of...stopped. He got a job in Chicago, and she just…she just really didn’t want to go. “You never gave it a go?”

“What, monogamy?” Logan takes another sip of his drink. “It’s kind of hard when I’m gone half of the year.”

“ _Yeah_ but,” she says, without thinking.

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“But?”

Veronica wishes she could rewind time. The nerves jump into her belly and full on _tango_ with the alcohol. She gestures vaguely in front of her. “But, uh, I dunno, well, it just seems like – I dunno – don’t they make reality shows about this? I’m pretty sure there’s a whole Hallmark genre.”

Logan puffs some laughter. “Yeah, I dunno.”

He turns, and looks at her. “It just…never seemed worth it, I guess.”

She doesn’t know why it seems like he’s saying something real. Veronica turns back to her drink.

“So…no one? Not even Jackie?”

“You beat my streak by a long ways. But…” he gives her a look. “Jeez. Do you really want to talk about our exes?”

“No.”

“Then – “ He lifts up his drink, takes a big sip. “Tell me _everything_ about Canada.”

Veronica laughs.

They finish the drink, stay for most of another, talking about everything that’s happened in the last nine years of their lives. Sometimes it’s sad, sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s ridiculous, but it’s just…it’s just so nice, just so _easy_ , just so strange and awful and wonderful to talk to him, like he’s so familiar and so different all at once. They’re settling the tab when Veronica realizes that if this were a date…if this were a first date…she’d have to rate it rather high, actually, and that’s something she’s not ready to think about.

Because she sort of has to wonder if Logan feels the same.

It’s been nine years. Nine _years_ , and clearly he’s a slightly different version of the man she once knew, like a mirror that’s been tilted just a bit while cleaning. 

But – maybe this is how it is for him, all the time. Maybe this is just what Logan’s like now, charming and affable, and _chivalrous_ god he definitely did _not_ skip that day at Navy school.

He holds the door open for her again as they bundle up to go out, and Veronica smiles on the sidewalk, because…

It’s snowing again.

The streets are quiet, by New York City standards, just a few people making merry before dinner. She’s been texting her dad throughout the day, nothing too nuts because the man loathes FaceTime with a ferociousness she rarely sees and he honestly does his best to hide, but. Anyway. Maybe she should call him before bed.

Logan joins her on the sidewalk.

She smiles at him, under the streetlights, and they pause, side by side, just taking in the sights for a moment. The street is covered in a puffy layer of white, the cars covered like mounds of ice cream. Flights are sure to be cancelled into the morning, and she realizes…it’s the first time she’s thought of them in a while. She tries to check her smile, fails.

How about that.

They start walking in the direction of her apartment.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks her, tentative, and Veronica sniffs as if on cue.

“I’ll live.”

“I’m pretty sure I still have ice in my pants.”

She laughs.

“How does anyone even win a snowball fight, anyway?” Veronica looks at Logan, who pulls a face. Neither of them knows. “California kids,” she says.

“California kids,” he agrees.

Veronica doesn’t quite realize until they’re climbing the stairs how much she’s had to drink. She’s not a big drinker, by anyone’s standards, and trying to figure out how to get into her apartment, she’s realizing that Logan isn’t much of a drinker either, because they both think it’s too funny when she keeps dropping her keys.

“I’ll get it,” he says, and Veronica’s smile splashes.

“Fine. You’re the one with cartography training.”

He laughs, but it turns into a hiccup. “That was _one day_.”

“One more day than I had,” she laughs, and Logan bends to pick up the keys, and he moves to push them in, which is completely fine, except Veronica is already leaning heavily on the door.

And there’s a moment, where they both realize how close they’re standing.

Logan’s arm is nearly brushing into her abdomen, and turning the key in the lock isn’t helping. Neither is the way he glances at her, the way his gaze softens, just a bit, and then as his gaze drops to her lips.

Veronica realizes she’s holding her breath.

“Go on Logan,” she says, all at once, pushing past him to open the door.

They doff coats and hats, and it breaks the spell, the mild labor of getting all the warm clothes off, then the practical elements of reheating leftovers and eating again at the kitchen counter.

“You okay?” he asks her, and Veronica blinks, and shakes her head.

“Yeah,” she says, realizing she hadn’t finished what she’d just been saying. “Yeah,” she insists, touching her head.

Her skin is burning, and Veronica touches her cheeks – they’re warm too. How long had they been outside? Is she just flushed?

“Veronica?”

“Yeah, I’ll just – are you done? I can clean up.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go take some medicine.”

Her shoulders slump, then, because…honestly that sounds…really great. She nods. What had she just been talking about with Logan? It doesn’t matter. Veronica’s lips tighten, she stands from the stool. God, when was the last time she _took_ anything? Her nose has been stuffed for most of the day but she’s been working around it, but, taking a few steps towards the bathroom and she feels…light-headed, somehow.

“You okay?” he asks again, sharp, and Veronica’s hand darts out for a lamp.

“Yeah,” she insists, not turning around. Okay. She just needs to focus. And wasn’t she clear earlier? She doesn’t like being coddled. Veronica straightens as best she can. The cold medicine is still on the bathroom counter and she fills the cup, wincing as it goes down on top of nice food. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, but instantly regrets it. She never put on make-up today, and she wonders why. She’s always been a make-up person, really, she likes the way it makes her look, she’s comfortable with the way it makes her look. But not having it on she looks…paler, somehow. Or maybe that’s her bright red cheeks, or the light circles beneath her eyes going on two days now.

Veronica blows her nose and heads back to the living room, where Logan is still doing dishes. He looks up when she walks in, but Veronica heads to the couch instead.

It’s soothing, somehow, the sounds of someone making ambient noise while you lie down in a cozy room. She pulls a blanket over herself, not really thinking, not really doing much of anything.

It’s another few minutes before Logan comes to join her.

“You want some tea?” he asks, quiet, and Veronica looks up at him, then shakes her head.

“Maybe just another movie? They’ve got to be on Die Hard 5 by now.”

“Cinco de Die Hard,” he murmurs, looking at her. “My favorite one.”

Veronica smiles, knowing she would probably laugh, but she’s…kind of tired now. It’s been a long day, and it’s kind of catching up to her.

Logan handles the remote, flipping channels for a minute. Then he takes a seat on the couch, because, she’s only taking up two cushions with her body.

For a moment he just tries to find space for all of his limbs, because, her head is next to his hip this time, and maybe it’s her hair or something but, he’s trying to be careful.

Veronica keeps her gaze on the TV, not moving an inch, not wanting to spook him.

“You sure I can’t get you anything?” he murmurs, finally settled. Veronica shakes her head again.

“No, just, don’t move,” she says. “You’re keeping my head warm.”

Logan laughs, then, quiet, under his breath.

“Okay,” he says, and it’s the last thing she remembers hearing, before she drifts off to sleep.

There are snatches, she maybe remembers, or, maybe she doesn’t. She feels like at one point Logan moved some hair out of her eyes, which, she’s very glad she missed because surely she would have bit him for it, or…well this one she’s more sure of, but…she knows she wakes up a little, when the lights are all off in her apartment later, and she feels warm, strong hands underneath her, lifting her up, holding her like a child.

She’s never been very tall, Veronica Mars, so she’s had to find some level of comfort with the child analogies over the years. Which is…which is _why_ , probably…it doesn’t bug her, that Logan Echolls is carrying her to her own bed.

That he’s nudging open the door, and pulling back the blankets with the hand he has under her legs, and then lowering her slowly to her own sheets.

She stirs, when he pulls the covers over her, smoothing them over her shoulder.

“You didn’t…” she breathes. _Didn’t have to_ , she wants to say, but she’s tired. So tired. “Can stay,” she finally adds, and she can feel Logan hovering over her, making up his own mind.

 _Okay_ , is what she thinks he says.

Okay.

She has tumbled dreams - of her old, Chrysler LeBaron - of her dog, Backup, long since buried. Of Logan, and Lilly, and Duncan. It’s been so long since she’s thought of any of them, and now, they come back, like that big giant muppet, just not exactly quite so merry. 

She knows that Logan is nearby, she can smell him almost, though their feet aren’t getting tangled under the covers.

He’s close.

When she wakes up, in the gray dawn of early morning, she knows immediately that she’s not alone. And feeling out her environment, she can…there is a weight across her middle, that wasn’t there before. An arm thrown over her, the embrace casual, nearly accidental.

Veronica can hear Logan’s even, measured breathing; he’s deep asleep, and – she shifts just a bit – he’s not under the covers with her, he’s slept over them likethe night before. But, that’s certainly his arm, those are certainly his fingers, and, that’s certainly all of his warmth seeping into her from his close proximity.

And she knows, instantly, that things have gone too far.

“Logan,” she whispers, and (his military training must finally kick in) she can hear him wake instantly.

His arm pulls off her, quick, immediate, like he’s equally surprised to find it there. And he inhales quick, deep, as he rolls slightly away, as Veronica takes a measured breath, as she pulls the blankets off and sits up on the edge of the bed.

Her head gives a throb that has nothing to do with her cold.

“Sorry,” he’s saying, and she can feel the dip in the mattress as he’s sitting too. “I – “ he tries to laugh, “ – all the guys in Basic said I was a cuddler – ”

She tries to laugh too, because it would be polite to laugh, surely, except, well, she really doesn’t have it in her.

“Yeah.”

“I’m – “ he swears under his breath. “I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t mean it, I wasn’t even going to – shit. You just – _shit_ – you just looked so _pale_ , is all.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I’m – “ he turns toward her, she can feel it through the bed. “I’m sorry.”

Why is he apologizing so fervently? Why is she _wanting_ him to apologize so fervently? Shit.

“I’m going to…take a shower,” she says, and she stands without turning around.

She’s still shaking off the feelings of unease as she goes, the strange feeling of…strangeness, as she turns on the water full blast, ripping off her clothes, stepping into the shower before it’s even fully warm.

Veronica just stands under it, for a few long moments, working her breathing back to normal, trying to rinse off the prickling feeling of her skin.

She just – she just can’t decide if it was pleasant, or not.

It’s been _nine years_ since she’s known this man, and she’s been letting him – god she’s been just an open door for him, almost, since he arrived. Gosh a _literal_ open door, even. And he’s been kind, just so alarmingly _kind_ , and _decent_ , and _lovely_ , and that is just – that’s just not something she was ready for, not something she can fully process, not something that is sitting well inside her ribcage. It’s like her body went on autopilot and was about to crash into a mirage, or – or –

God it didn’t matter.

Veronica picks up the shampoo.

She is vigorously clean when she emerges, her sinuses open for the first time in about a week, almost, and she finds that she’s steeling herself for the worst. She has no idea what the _worst_ is, but, whatever it’s going to be, she’s going to be prepared. Except for…lava. She probably couldn’t tackle lava right now. Let her have some coffee first.

All that to say, it should be easier, to open the bathroom door wearing her robe tightly knotted around her middle and her hair freshly combed, and find…

Logan sitting anxiously on her couch, full dressed, next to his very-much packed suitcase.

And he stands straight up when he sees her.

Veronica’s gaze darts to his bag.

“Hey,” she says, uneasy.

“Hey,” he says back, voice tighter than it was yesterday.

Veronica swallows. “You’re leaving?”

Logan’s shoulders lose a modicum of tension. They’re still hunched, but.

“JFK opened up,” he says. He tries taking a breath. “So – yeah. Yeah, I uh…I got a flight.”

Veronica’s lips press together, and she nods, short. “Okay.”

He’s staring at her, in her quiet apartment, the sun finally starting to shine through the windows. She’d forgotten how brown his eyes are, how warm and gentle they can be, even when the rest of him is so tight and sharp.

He got a flight? He got a...he got a flight. That’s all...they’d been waiting for this, for, well, two days now. It shouldn’t come as a shock, it definitely shouldn’t come as a...

“Okay.”

And she’s sitting in her apartment after he’s left, trying to shake the feeling of him looking at her as he walked out, the way he almost looked re _gretful_ about it all, and how that just doesn’t make _sense_ , how none of it makes _sense_ , when she gets a ping on her phone.

And holding it up, reading what it’s saying…

Veronica makes what is perhaps, the dumbest decision of her life. 

  
  


He looks so good, somehow, even in a crappy airport boarding area. The airport is packed; lots of people trying to make up for missing the actual holiday with overflowing bags that _definitely_ won’t meet overhead compartment restrictions, but…it’s the holidays. It’s fine.

Logan is standing by the windows, staring out at the tarmac, bathing in the sun. So many people are hovering, watching the boarding desk, waiting for their loading zone, but, Logan is apparently such an experienced flyer that he doesn’t seem to care. He’s wearing street clothes; she wonders what the rules are about that, but, he looks good, so.

Veronica takes a deep breath, and approaches.

She lets him figure out it’s her, in the time that it takes him. It takes him longer than she thinks it should, but, apparently he’s distracted.

“Do you want to know why we broke up?” she asks him, before he can say anything, when his mouth is open on shock, when he’s looking at her so openly.

“It’s the only flight,” she adds, quick, to explain before he can ask, with a wince that could also be interpreted as a smile.

His shoulders settle, and his look softens, as he takes her all in. She’s not been fully, normally, dressed since she opened the door to him two days ago, she realizes, and maybe she looks different. 

Veronica wets her lips. “We broke up because I was going away to school, yes,” she says, and Logan turns to face her fully, his hand in his pocket, his other holding himself up on the railing someone installed so people won’t go crashing through the windows without a fight.

Veronica keeps her eyes on his face. “But we also broke up because…I liked you way too much.” She tries not to focus on the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I liked you so much more than I thought one teenager should like another teenager, and the idea that I could _want_ to be with you forever, that I _could_ be with you forever…that freaking terrified me, Logan.”

His shoulders drop the rest of the way. She can see him swallow, his hands twitch as if wanting to move.

“So…what you’re saying is…”

“So what I’m _not_ saying, Logan, is, kiss me kiss me in a crowded airport,” she says, trying her god damn hardest for a joke right now, for the literal barest definition of a joke, and Logan is wonderful because he smiles. “But, I guess I’m saying…that I definitely called the airline, and impersonated your voice, just to...get our seats assigned together.”

He smiles wider.

“And what I guess I’m saying is…” Veronica takes a little breath, staring up at him, feeling like her stomach is going to jump out of her body at any moment. “What’re you doing, later?”

The way he takes a breath, then, smiling down at her – she likes that. She likes it a lot.

“Veronica Mars,” he says, and he throws an arm around her and pulls her close. He talks into her hair, and because he can’t see it, Veronica’s smile blooms large and uninhibited into his shirt.

“Merry Christmas.” 

  
  



End file.
